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So, after giving myself a day off, I set myself up for failure on Sunday by creating over-ambitious plans. I won't just go to a reading: I'll go to the gym first, and then buy a couple of sweaters somewhere, and then I'll go to the reading.
Just for good measure, in parallel I figured that if I stayed home I would make chicken soup, and maybe chocolate truffles.
There's no way that I could do all of those. The problem was, as I did what I usually do when I'm home alone on a weekend morning--more or less what I did Saturday--I reached the point where I couldn't even do most of those. And then found myself thinking it wouldn't be worth it to go out, because it's a long way down to Allen Street for a short event.
I talked myself out of that one by remembering that leaving the house wouldn't commit me to anything. I took the gym gear, in case, and headed toward the train.
As soon as I got outside, I felt more energetic. I've thus set the goal of going outside any day that neither my doctor nor the National Weather Service has explicitly said not to, even if I'm sick or it's cold and I only go downstairs for seltzer.
Subway. Got thoroughly turned around when I got out, and walked a half mile in the wrong direction, in the cold. And back. Call that the exercise for the day.
I walked into Bluestockings Books, got a cup of tea, said hello to Candas--who recognized me, a good thing as I didn't recognize her--and Nalo, and chatted a bit before Candas got up to read. While I was waiting, in the bookstore with the tea, I realized happily "I'm surrounded by smiling Canadians." Not entirely true, but a pleasant thought.
The readings were good--Candas Jane Dorsey and her partner Timothy (whose last name I can't seem to retrieve) each read from their new books, to a small but appreciative audience, then signed the books we bought. Eventually, half a dozen of us--Candas, Timothy, Nalo, two other friends of Candas's, and I--went next door for a quick dinner, and talked about theatre of various sorts.
Nalo surprised me by inviting me back to her B&B with Candas and Timothy, to hang out a while. I happily accepted. She's staying in a place whose rules are "no children, no pets, no art dealers," because the owner got tired of requests to sell the art on the walls of the rooms. Having seen the art, I'm unsurprised, by the dealers and by the owner's reaction to the repeated questions.
The conversation turned to politics, but not American electoral politics. Rather, who counts as "queer enough" for certain purposes, and the way Toronto newspapers ignore anything happening elsewhere in Canada, and some of the ways race affects how we live, and what people do and don't see.
It was a delightful evening, and I'm very glad I didn't talk myself into staying home.
Just for good measure, in parallel I figured that if I stayed home I would make chicken soup, and maybe chocolate truffles.
There's no way that I could do all of those. The problem was, as I did what I usually do when I'm home alone on a weekend morning--more or less what I did Saturday--I reached the point where I couldn't even do most of those. And then found myself thinking it wouldn't be worth it to go out, because it's a long way down to Allen Street for a short event.
I talked myself out of that one by remembering that leaving the house wouldn't commit me to anything. I took the gym gear, in case, and headed toward the train.
As soon as I got outside, I felt more energetic. I've thus set the goal of going outside any day that neither my doctor nor the National Weather Service has explicitly said not to, even if I'm sick or it's cold and I only go downstairs for seltzer.
Subway. Got thoroughly turned around when I got out, and walked a half mile in the wrong direction, in the cold. And back. Call that the exercise for the day.
I walked into Bluestockings Books, got a cup of tea, said hello to Candas--who recognized me, a good thing as I didn't recognize her--and Nalo, and chatted a bit before Candas got up to read. While I was waiting, in the bookstore with the tea, I realized happily "I'm surrounded by smiling Canadians." Not entirely true, but a pleasant thought.
The readings were good--Candas Jane Dorsey and her partner Timothy (whose last name I can't seem to retrieve) each read from their new books, to a small but appreciative audience, then signed the books we bought. Eventually, half a dozen of us--Candas, Timothy, Nalo, two other friends of Candas's, and I--went next door for a quick dinner, and talked about theatre of various sorts.
Nalo surprised me by inviting me back to her B&B with Candas and Timothy, to hang out a while. I happily accepted. She's staying in a place whose rules are "no children, no pets, no art dealers," because the owner got tired of requests to sell the art on the walls of the rooms. Having seen the art, I'm unsurprised, by the dealers and by the owner's reaction to the repeated questions.
The conversation turned to politics, but not American electoral politics. Rather, who counts as "queer enough" for certain purposes, and the way Toronto newspapers ignore anything happening elsewhere in Canada, and some of the ways race affects how we live, and what people do and don't see.
It was a delightful evening, and I'm very glad I didn't talk myself into staying home.